


The ABCs of Hurt!Paladins (Alphabet Challenge)

by tazlwyrm



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Hunk (Voltron), Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt Pidge (Voltron), Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Sickfic, Team as Family, none of these will be deathfics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tazlwyrm/pseuds/tazlwyrm
Summary: Twenty-six, nicely alphabetized hurt/comfort oneshots that put our favourite defenders of the universe through the wringer.(Trigger warnings will either be apparent in the title of the chapter or provided in the notes. If I were to list everything in the tags, then we'd have a "wall of tags" situation)NOTE: This project is on an extended hold as I'm taking a break from the fandom until the final season airs. I'll be back then with either the full continuation of this, or with separate oneshots based on the prompts I was looking more forward to writing than others (kinda feeling the latter to be honest). See you then!





	1. Asphyxiated (Keith)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a big sucker for hurt/comfort and judging by the fact that you're here, you are as well. So, enjoy and you're more than welcome to come yell at/befriend me on tumblr:
> 
>  
> 
> [tazlwyrm](http://tazlwyrm.tumblr.com/)

                Keith was well aware that there was no way to be one hundred percent prepared for every specific fight. Just about anything could happen and it was up to your own instincts to get you out of a difficult situation. Another thing that quickly became apparent was that sometimes what went wrong during a battle was those instincts failing you in astronomically horrible ways. For instance, you could neglect to foresee an incoming attack, be blind-sided by a Galra soldier ramming headlong into you, lose your balance, and then find said soldier’s hands wrapped around your neck as you crash to the floor.

                That could pass as a random example, but it was Keith’s horrific reality. Huge hands were pressed so hard against his windpipe that their owner shook with the effort, focusing all their strength into cutting off his airway. Keith expected to get a sword to the gut at any moment, but his assailant seemed too intent on giving him a drawn-out death. In a panicked haze, he knew that he had seconds—not minutes—to free himself before he’d pass out.

                He frantically groped for his bayard that had been tossed out of his hand in the attack, seeing it just out of reach in the corner of his eye. When that failed, he attempted a kick, but his legs were pinned under the hulking Galra looming over him. Could he call for help over the com-link? No. His helmet had been knocked off upon impact. Besides, he couldn’t speak. All he could manage was a wordless, glottal click that only caused the soldier to squeeze impossibly harder.

                Keith’s vision began to tunnel, fuzzy darkness creeping in the edges of his sight like an infection. _Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out_. Abandoning all logical thought, he resorted to clawing uselessly at the Galra’s hands and arms. All noise was drowned out by the rush of his own blood in his ears—it felt like his head was about to pop.

                His wide, bugged eyes took in the hateful glowing amber of the ones above him, and the cruel, toothy grin from whom Keith found himself accepting to be the agent of his death. The realization scared him. He didn’t want to die here. He didn’t want to _die_. Keith knew there were tears, flowing free and hot down his face and mingling with sweat. His fists beat weakly against the hands that bound him, but he kept catching himself in the jaw instead. _Air. I need air. Please._

                In answer to his silent pleas, the hands disappeared. Through his failing vision and muffled hearing, it was difficult to tell exactly what had happened. He was aware that the soldier had been attacked. A blur of yellow and white had barreled into their side, effectively pushing them away from him. _Hunk?_

                There were the vague sounds a scuffle and some gunfire going on beside him for a few seconds before Hunk appeared at his side again. Keith was rather content with just lying there and letting his body recover, but his teammate was hovering above him. Hunk was yelling, that much Keith could tell, and urgently patting his face. _What did he want from him?_ Keith then realized that during the brief time since he’d been released, it seemed his body had forgotten that he needed to start breathing again. It was almost a conscious effort to draw in a painful, rattling breath.

                Keith coughed violently as Hunk turned him onto his side, carefully arranging him into the recovery position.  He wasn’t sure how much that was needed in this situation, but he deeply appreciated the gesture. As he tried to catch his breath, his senses started filtering back. His vision cleared, aside from the tears that he couldn’t seem to stop. Hunk was babbling, and he began to hear that too.

                “Okay. Okay, good. You’re okay, Keith. You’re breathing. Thank goodness.”

                He sounded like he was still panicking. Keith wanted nothing more than to assure his friend that he was fine—he might even be good to walk out of there in a few minutes. But, he couldn’t muster the strength to speak just yet. He settled for attempting to take deep, obvious breaths, hoping that Hunk would get the picture.

                The Yellow Paladin had switched to rattling off information over the com-link, relaying their situation to the rest of the team. Keith could feel the weight of Hunk’s hand resting on his forearm as he listened in on half of the conversation.

                “Yeah, no. He’s fine…I think. He hasn’t said anything, but he’s breathing at least.”

                Keith sucked in a breath as Hunk affirmed that they’d meet up with the rest of the team as soon as he was good to go.

                “M’good. Don’ w’rry,” he said, utilizing the exhale to form the assurance.

                Hunk moved so that he was in Keith’s line of sight, seeming pleased that he’d finally heard his voice. He smiled shakily before reaching out to him.

                “You sure, buddy? You’ve already got some bruising on your—“

                 Keith couldn’t help but flinch away and yell as Hunk’s hand brushed—however tenderly—across his neck. The memory of that vice grip on his throat was still way too fresh. Keith instinctively doubled over to protect himself from the sudden flash of claws and murderous eyes.

                “Oh, no, Keith! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. That probably hurts so bad!” Hunk exclaimed, his voice pitched high with fear.

                 Hunk had sat back, hands curled in front of him. He looked guilty even as he visibly resisted the urge to comfort his friend, afraid to touch him again. Keith took a moment to relax a bit before extending one of his arms to place a hand on Hunk’s knee.

                “N-no. It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me. It’s just…I really thought I was gonna—“

                 Keith’s eyes welled up again, tears rolling and dripping off his nose. “I’m just being a baby. It’s _fine_.” The last word was almost lost in a sob. _Why couldn’t he stop freaking crying? This wasn’t the worst thing he’d been through, so why?_

                “Aw, Keith,” Hunk breathed. Keith felt a hand in his hair, running comfortingly through the sweaty strands.

                “You’re not being a baby. That was pretty scary, man. You almost got choked out there.” He paused, sorting through the appropriate words in his head. “Heck, I’m the _last_ person who’s gonna judge you for freaking out and crying.”

                Keith couldn’t help a watery huff of laughter from escaping him. He smiled gratefully up at Hunk, unable to find the words to express how glad he was to have his teammate with him. They stayed there, Keith finally getting his breathing back under consistent control as Hunk carefully checked him over for any other injuries. He moved Keith’s limbs and checked his ribs, eyes trained on Keith’s face to gauge any pain response. The ministrations quickly became soothing and Keith all but melted under Hunk’s gentle touches. That is, when he wasn’t wincing at some of the more tender areas being prodded at.

                Hunk hummed in approval as he found nothing else too egregious aside from what was probably some already wicked-looking bruises circling Keith’s neck. He muttered to himself about getting Keith into a pod—he probably didn’t want to take any chances. Keith wasn’t about to argue. He still felt like an elephant had dragon-kicked him into a wall before butt-stomping his windpipe.

               Despite his body’s protests, Keith pushed himself up into a semi-seated position. They needed to get going. Hunk hovered a bit, but trusted him to complete the action on his own.

                Keith caught sight of the Galra that had attacked him. He couldn’t tell if he was dead or not, but the chest plate was a still-smoldering mess. Hunk could be downright _ruthless_ when his friends’ lives were directly at stake. That had been made crystal clear on many occasions and this was no exception.

                Once Keith was upright, he paused to contemplate whether he was really up to walking on his own— _no, not really_. He turned sheepishly to his teammate, who was still eyeing him with concern and offering Keith his helmet back. He accepted it and slipped it on before speaking.

               “I-uh-I think I’m gonna need some help here, big guy,” Keith said, his voice still a little raspy, but stronger than it had been.

               “Oh! Right. I got you, buddy.”

                Hunk immediately moved into action, gently wrapping an arm around Keith’s back. The Red Paladin placed his arm across Hunk’s shoulders for preemptive support and the two slowly stood together. Keith hissed slightly as his sore neck was jostled in the motion. Regardless, they moved forward.

               “You sure you don’t want me to carry you or something? Because I could, you know?” Hunk offered. Keith didn’t doubt he could. He’d seen Hunk do his fair share of carrying Lance and Pidge away from danger—both of them at the same time once.

                “Uh, no. I think I’ll live.”

                “Hah, good.” Hunk sighed. “In all seriousness, I’m really glad you’re okay. It’s difficult to see someone like you go down like that.”

                “Someone like me?”

                “I mean it’s just easy to see people like you—and like Shiro I guess—as, like, totally invincible. Because—if you don’t mind me saying—you’re always pretty awesome at the whole fighting thing. But, then you guys still get hurt sometimes and it’s kinda like my whole sense of reality shatters and—“

                “Hunk, relax. I get it,” Keith reassured. He knew that Hunk was about to launch into gushing about Keith being his friend and how much he cared about him and hated seeing him hurt and all that. Keith decided that he couldn’t emotionally deal with those kind of words right then, so he cut him off. He was better at accepting physical affection from those he cared about anyway—only slightly better, but he was working on it. Words could just be clumsy and awkward.

                 Keith briefly tightened his hold on Hunk in a sort of oddly-angled side-hug.

                “And don’t forget that you’re awesome too. You saved my life today, Hunk. Can’t thank you enough,” Keith said, his voice fading slightly.

                “Anytime and _every_ time,” Hunk said, beaming a little at the praise.

                Keith chuckled, but stopped on a cough which agonized his throat. He could feel Hunk’s worried gaze boring into him.

                “Let’s go get you fixed up, man. There’s a healing pod back at the Castle with your name on it.”

                Keith nodded, beginning to feel the exhaustion catching up with him as he allowed Hunk to steer him home. Despite knowing that sleeping would be Nightmare City for a while, it was still hard to fight—especially with Hunk’s warm, grounding presence beside him. He wouldn’t remember it, but his friend ended up carrying him the rest of the way.

 


	2. Bug Bite (Hunk)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know how insects can carry certain diseases or illnesses? Yeah, Hunk's about to find out that this also applies to space bugs.
> 
> This turned out way more Hance-y than I intended, but that's honestly the opposite of a problem. It can totally be read as platonic if that's more your jam though.
> 
> Also, if anyone is wondering when these happen in the canon timeline, don't worry about it. I'm just kind of playing around with the characters here. Just assume that they mostly take place before the events of the ending to season two. Unless I express otherwise. 
> 
>   **Trigger Warning: This chapter contains mentions of vomiting. It's not graphic, but it happens**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Hey, guys! I'm SUPER sorry that this took so long to come out. I had some trouble writing the first prompt idea that I had for this chapter, then I went on vacation, then I got an inspiration boom for my book, then I got a better idea for this one and had to start over, and, yeah, [Excuse E], [Excuse F].
> 
> I'm making a tentative promise that the next chapter will be up in a week or two. At the very least, I'm going to make sure that the wait time between uploads isn't, like, two months again.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and those wonderful comments on the last chapter! I hope you like this one too. It's much longer than the last one (Holy crap!).

        The strangest part of passing out with little to no warning is the sudden lost time. Hunk recalled that what seemed like only a moment ago, he’d been fine—attending a celebration on the recently liberated Knackmarian home-world. Now, everything was dark and muddled and he felt like the final product of a trash compactor. From behind his closed lids, his eyes ached. His throat was tight with pain, his head pounded, and Lance was yelling. _Wait_. Lance was yelling, repeating Hunk’s name over the whispers of the crowd that had likely gathered around the Yellow Paladin’s seemingly still unconscious form.

        There was a trembling hand resting on his shoulder that could only belong to his best friend. Lance was scared and that’s when Hunk put all his efforts into remedying that, pouring his focus into opening his eyes. Against his will, a wheeze that developed into a groan escaped him as his seemingly weighted eyelids fought him

        “Hunk? You back with us, buddy?” Lance asked, a slightly wavering hopefulness in his voice.

        As Hunk finally wrenched his eyes open, he took a moment to blink away the blurriness and take in his immediate surroundings. He had been right that he’d caused a scene. Many of the Knackmarian party-goers surrounded him at a distance that was only slightly comfortable. Hunk’s scrambled brain only registered them as a sea of grey-green skin and large, pale eyes. He wanted to shrink under their gazes of morbid curiosity, but his body didn’t want to co-operate beyond igniting a flush of embarrassment under his cheeks.

        He decided to try and ignore them and focus on a friendly face. Lance was hovering over him, hands gripping his shoulders and looking expectantly into his face. The Blue Paladin’s lower lip wobbled a little, but he managed to pull a grin onto his face.

        “Hey, there you are. We were just starting to miss you,” he said, his attempt at levity falling flat at the worry still evident in his voice.

        Hunk tried to lift his hand to wave off any concern, but his arms still felt like lead, so it dropped heavily down to his side again. He closed his eyes, shivering at the cold seeping through his shirt from the tiled floor.

        “I-I’m on the ground,” he said, voicing a near-delirious thought. He didn’t mean to say it. Kind of obvious, right? _Man, he felt awful. Why was he so sick all of a sudden?_

        But, it got a small laugh out of Lance, so it was worth something.

        “Great observation,” Lance said. It was a gentle jest—all in good humor. “You took a nosedive a couple minutes ago. Just sit tight a tick.”

        Another voice spoke up. “Do you remember what happened at all?”

        Hunk’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Shiro’s question. He hadn’t realized their leader was crouched just behind his head, gently pressing what felt like a scrap of fabric to his forehead. Pain was radiating from the area. He must have hit his head when he fainted. Pidge was there too. She said nothing, opting to fidget anxiously instead.

         Shiro was looking down at him, features pinched in concern. Hunk had seen that expression on his face before, but never directed at him—usually at Keith when he came back from a mission looking more battered than his task had called for. _This was really bad_. Although, if he looked as garbage-y as he felt, it was probably completely warranted. Shiro’s free hand gave him a gentle tap on the scalp, urging him to answer the question.

        “Not really,” Hunk breathed. It was the truth. He hardly remembered most of the night leading up to this. “I was totally fine before, but now—”

        “You didn’t eat or drink anything funky did you?” Lance asked. Hunk figured he was trying to rule out the idea that he’d been poisoned. It wasn’t entirely unlikely, given the current state of their lives, but Hunk knew that kind of reaction would be way more violent. Truthfully, it felt like a super-powered flu virus had rammed into him at Mach 9.

        “No,” he rasped. “I just…I feel _horrible_ , Lance.” A slight whine was working its way into his voice. He was getting tired of the questions—however few—and the fact that they hadn’t moved him back to the Castle yet. Everyone was staring. Everything hurt. He just wanted to curl up in his bed and hide away while Coran shoved whatever weird Altean remedies he had into his face.

        “You _do_ have a fever,” Shiro said thoughtfully. “And I know you wouldn’t have hidden that you were sick.”

        Pidge made a small noise in the back of her throat.

        “Then this came on way too _fast_! What’s wrong with him?” she said, clearly frustrated at the lack of immediate answers.

        That really was the question, wasn’t it? What w _as_ wrong with him? It did just feel he’d caught a bad cold, but what if it was more complicated? Who knows what kind of weird alien virus he’d possibly come into contact with? It was so fast-acting. Would it get worse? And at the same rate? Was he dying? Would he be dead in just a few hours? Oh, no. _He was dying, wasn’t he?_

        “Hey, man,” Lance said, breaking Hunk out of his inner anxiety spiral with a quiet, soothing tone and a gentle pat on the chest. “You’re gonna be fine. I swear. Keith’s getting the healer. This is probably something they recognize, right? Just relax. We’ll figure this out.”

        As if on cue, the crowd parted the make way for the Red Paladin who looked about a hair’s width to losing it, frazzled and out-of-breath. A small weight visibly lifted off his shoulders at the sight of Hunk awake.

        “Are you okay?” he blurted out—pretty much all as one word. His voice was tinged with what any other people in the universe would interpret as anger, but Hunk knew better. He was just scared.

        Hunk gave the barest shake of his head, instantly regretting the motion as it caused his vision to swim and pain to explode in his temples. He groaned and closed his eyes just for a moment to combat the feeling—well, he thought it was a moment again anyways. He lost time again. Not as much as before, but still a noticeable gap. He came back to the feeling of being prodded and the sight of the elderly Knackmarian healer hovering over him. She was much larger than the others he’d seen and she had a soft, kindly face (which was saying a lot given the imposing tusks the species bore).

        He noted with light irritation that he still hadn’t been moved. _Was it too much to ask to at least get rid of the audience?_ His friends had backed off to give the healer room; he could see them still within close range just beyond her. At some point, Allura and Coran had joined them and the fact that they looked just as lost and concerned as his fellow humans did not comfort him.

        Lance was still there next to him though and it broke Hunk’s heart to see his friend clearly struggling to hold back tears.

        Hunk coughed to get his attention.

        “Lan—“

        A large hand being placed on his chest silenced him and the healer spoke.

        “Hush, Paladin,” she said, quickly resuming looking him over. “I believe I know what has caused your sudden illness—“

        “H-how bad is it? Will he be okay? It’s not, like, some kind of mutant space Ebola is it?” Lance interjected.

        The Knackmarian eyed him quizzically. “I do not understand your terminology, but I assure you the Yellow Paladin is in a low degree of danger if he is given the proper treatment for his ailment. If I could only find—ah, there we are.”

        She paused her examination as she had gently turned one of Hunk’s hands over in hers. Humming an affirmative, she motioned for the others to come get a closer look. Shiro got to them first, his long strides bringing him to the healer’s side almost instantly. He seemed more confused than reassured at what he saw.

        “Looks like an insect bite of some kind,” he said, gently poking at a spot on Hunk’s wrist that he didn’t have the strength to crane his neck to see.

        Lance looked across him to see for himself and his nose wrinkled a bit.

        “Nasty,” he whispered. “Dude, it’s all swollen and purple and—“

        “Don’t,” Hunk croaked, his already nauseated stomach rolling at just the thought of some weird alien bug snacking on him without him knowing.

        Lance smiled sympathetically. “Sorry.”

       “Okay, but what does this mean?” Keith asked, mildly exasperated.

       “The bite is from the Knackmarian Swampfly,” the healer said. “They’re a common, irritating creature, but sometimes they can be carriers of this particular virus.”

       “And we shouldn’t be worried _why_?” Pidge prompted.

       “While it is a very… _unpleasant_ illness, it is entirely non-fatal.”

        The relief between Hunk and his companions was almost palpable, but of course, Shiro had lingering concerns.

       “Does it normally hit someone this fast? The bite can’t have happened that long ago,” he asked.

       “Yes, that is quite odd,” the healer said. “The sickness does take hold very rapidly, but I’ve never seen it to this degree. I assume your species may be weaker to it.”

       Coran stepped forward, clearly elated to finally have some part to play in helping the Yellow Paladin.

      “We shouldn’t rule out any possibility that this will affect Hunk in a more violent manner” he said. “I suggest we take him back to ship. I’ll scan him for any abnormalities beyond the virus itself.”

      Hunk groaned. They had answers now, but he could already tell he was in for a tough time.

      The journey back to the Castle passed by in a blur, but Hunk was grateful that he managed not to pass out again. The others managed to get him to his feet and support him in a slow-going path. His knees killed him with every step and he nearly stumbled several times, his fall always halted by a few pairs of gentle hands. He could tell his friends were speaking either to him or each other; he couldn’t tell over the buzzing in his ears.

      He was briefly brought to the infirmary—or maybe it wasn’t briefly. _Ah, whatever_. Time didn’t mean _a thing_ to him anymore. He was just along for the dumbest ride ever at this point. His consciousness faded in and out as his fever raged. He couldn’t focus on anything for too long that wasn’t the dull pain that throbbed over every inch of his body. Not to mention the sheer concentration it was taking him not to vomit. There were shapes, colours, lights, and voices fading from panicked tones to softer, more relaxed conversation.

      Then the next thing he was fully aware of was being in his room, violently retching into a bucket that had been placed in his lap. It was nice of his brain to clear the fog just so that he could be present for a round of puking. _Very nice_. The annoyance was gone in a second. He couldn’t muster the strength to even be angry at his situation anymore. He was sick, but he’d live through it, right? At least Lance was there.

       A cool hand was rubbing circles into his back as Lance’s voice offered quiet encouragement. The two of them were alone. Hunk briefly wondered where the others were, but he appreciated the idea that they had decided to give him some space. The attention he’d garnered earlier was still sitting a little sour with him and he couldn’t have handled being crowded again. Even if it was by his friends who had nothing but good intentions and wanted to care for him. However, he was enjoying Lance’s company. He always did.

       As Hunk’s stomach finally settled, Lance set the bucket on the floor, nudging it with his foot until it was a leg’s length away.

        “You done?” he asked.

        “For now.” Hunk dropped his face into his hands. “Ugh, you'd think I’d be used to that by now.”

        “It sucks no matter how many times it happens. S’not like it’s gonna start tasting like candy any time soon.”

        “Lemme know if they make a pill for that.”

        Lance snorted. “I’ll get someone right on that.”

        Hunk took a moment to breathe before he asked: “So, I’m not dying am I?”

        Lance shook his head. “Nah, man. Scans say you’re in the clear.” He paused. “This is still gonna be rough though.’

        After a light pat to Hunk’s shoulder, Lance stood and crossed the short distance to the bedside table. On it was a metal tray containing many small cups of a strange purple liquid. The Blue Paladin picked one up, along with a glass of water.

        “Here,” he said, holding them both out. “Hopefully you can keep this down. It’s some kinda medicine that should help kick the crap out of whatever you’ve got going on symptom-wise.”

        Hunk took it warily.

        Lance spoke again quickly. “I’d brace myself for that. One, even _Coran_ warned me about the taste; two, it smells like feet and pickled eggs.”

        His friend’s description was unfortunately spot-on and Hunk’s stomach rolled again as he eyed the medicine and swirled it around in the cup. He sighed, resigning himself to his fate, before downing it in one go. The sensation of the liquid scrapping down his wrecked throat made his body instantly rebel and he gagged.

        Lance yelped in surprise and moved to his side in an instant, almost tripping over himself to grab the bucket and shove it within the potential Danger Zone. Hunk might have laughed if the sudden strain on his already sore muscles hadn’t put him in agony. _And, oh, God, this stuff tastes_ way _worse than it smells_.

        “Oh, it’s like finely-aged roadkill!” he finally managed to croak out when he figured he’d be able to speak without puking again. He tried chasing the offensive substance down with water, but it was a wasted effort. It was a taste that just _sticks_.

         Lance looked up at him with a crooked grin. “Think you can handle, like, twelve more doses of that…because, yeah, that’s what you’re gonna have to do.”

         Hunk groaned, swaying slightly as exhaustion crashed into him. Lance’s hands landed on his shoulders. He was smiling, but there was still concern swimming in his eyes.

         “Hey, man. Let’s get you laying down,” he said, gently easing Hunk down onto the mattress.

         Lance fussed with his blankets for a solid minute before busying himself with setting an alarm to remind them to have Hunk choke down another dose of medicine. There was silence between them for a bit. It felt weird, as if there was some obvious course of action to be taken, but neither of them could quite place what it was. Lance sighed, moving to pick up the trashcan again (that thing would _never_ be the same after this was over).

         “I’m just gonna go wash this out,” he said, sounding a little hesitant. “Don’t go anywhere.”

         With that, Hunk was left alone for the first time since this whole thing started. Laying down had done little to ease the pain. His headache was coming back, the room would tilt every time he shifted, the fever burned his eyelids when he closed them, and now he was alone. _Finally. Good, right? Wrong. It sucked. This whole thing sucked._ A breath sobbed in his chest as the door slid open again.

         “Hunk?”

         Lance was back. Realizing what he had needed moments before, Hunk reached out to him. It was his way of giving his best friend permission—and insistence—to be close to him.

         Wordlessly, Lance reacted, climbing over Hunk’s shaking form to lay in the empty spot next to him in the bed. Lanky arms carefully wrapped around him and the effect was almost instantaneous; Hunk calmed slightly. He smiled weakly, his mind going back to the time he’d caught a bad stomach bug back at the Garrison. Lance had done something similar for him then, practically taking up residence in his bed and distracting him with games and aimless chatter until he’d felt better. It was a good memory—even if he had been horribly ill.  He was glad that Lance had been one slice of home he’d been able to take with him on this impromptu 'guess-what-you’re-now-part-of-a-terrifying-war' space trip.

         “It’s gonna be okay, buddy. Try to sleep,” Lance murmured into Hunk’s back, sounding close to falling asleep himself.

         Suddenly, the prospect of doing just that became simple. It was either the medicine kicking in or the feeling of Lance’s breathing against his back that finally pulled him towards sleep. Probably a mixture of both.

 

~*~

               

        Hunk awoke some time later feeling a little better. Not _a lot_. Just a little. At least he was significantly more lucid and less weepy. He was trying to figure out what woke him up when he registered a hand pressed to his forehead. He looked up into tired grey eyes. Shiro.

        The Black Paladin smiled. “Hey. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

        “S’okay,” Hunk said groggily as Shiro pulled his hand away.

        “Just wanted to check up on you before I turned in,” Shiro explained. “You…feeling anywhere close to normal now?”

         Hunk paused, genuinely reflecting on that. He looked past his leader to see Keith and Pidge peeking in through the door at him. He chuckled a little. They looked like a couple of curious puppies who simultaneously had no clue what to make of the situation and therefore were keeping their distance.

         “Not really, but I’ll get there,” Hunk rasped—but, the irritation in his throat had certainly lessened.

         Shiro ruffled his hair. “Okay,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll let Lance know if you need anything—if you can wake him up.”

         Lance was still passed out, undisturbed by the intrusion and snoring lightly.

         “Hopefully I won’t have to,” Hunk said. Feeling a little guilty, he added: “I think he had just as stressful a night as I had”

         “We a _ll_ did,” Keith mumbled from across the room, face flushing as every pair of wakeful eyes in the room trained themselves on him.

         A few sympathetic looks were exchanged. There was a conversation to be had, but it seemed that it was being tucked away for later. Shiro stood and ushered Keith and Pidge away from the door. He looked back one last time.

         “Goodnight, Hunk,” he said. “I hope you can beat this soon.”

         Hunk nodded as the door swished shut and the alarm Lance had set earlier went off. Grimacing, he bit back his nausea and lifted himself up to take care of that. He was relieved to find his aches had let up a smidge. The sleeping Blue Paladin stirred, grumbling something incoherent before shifting impossibly closer to Hunk and settling. He grinned at the unconscious gesture, affection for his friend spreading warmth in his chest. The medicine went down smoother this time—only slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, poor Hunk! Let's hope he feels better soon. I also just realized that Allura didn't have a speaking role in this, which was utter blasphemy on my part (I tried to go back and remedy that, but nothing I tried felt natural in the flow of things). Don't worry though! She'll certainly have a significant presence in the next chapter!
> 
> Speaking of which, next up is the fandom's favourite whumpee--Lance! I know exactly what I'm doing with his first chapter. It's just a matter of getting it down, so hopefully it shouldn't take me too long. 
> 
> See you then! Come yell at/talk to me on tumblr if you want to: [HERE](http://tazlwyrm.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks for reading! And Happy New Year!  
> \- tazlwyrm


	3. Catatonic (Lance)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not every mission is successful. Some of them end in pain and misery--physical and emotional. The latter gets the better of Lance, leaving his friends floundering.
> 
> Have some platonic Team Voltron feels, focusing on a brotherly relationship between Shiro and Lance (it's Shiro's POV, so that comes into the foreground because of it. There's a lot of general stuff with the others too). Klance elements if you squint, but it's not explicit if you want to read it as platonic.
> 
> Note: I took a few creative liberties with this one, so I apologize for any inaccuracies about actual catatonia. It's fairly dramatized as a result of me being unable to find decent references ':)

        Shiro was the last one out of the pods. He stumbled forward only to be steadied by Coran’s waiting hands.

        “Easy, lad,” he heard him say. “Let’s get you sitting down before you fall over.”

        “W’ happened?” Shiro mumbled as he was eased onto the steps.

        His vision cleared to find Coran knelt in front of him, his face strangely grim.

        “I can tell you later when you’re all feeling better,” he said. “Short version: very, _very_ bad intel.”

        Shiro thought back to try and fill in the blanks himself. He vaguely recalled the mission’s objective: a simple in-then-out rescue from a remote, off-the-grid Galra prison. _What had happened though?_ He remembered _a lot_ of enemies. It turned out to be a false lead…an ambush?

        He felt a blanket being draped over his shoulders and looked to see Allura smiling down at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Keith and Pidge were on either side of him, looking slightly more alert than he felt, but still a little out of it. He could see Hunk behind Keith, absent-mindedly fiddling with the straw on a hydration pouch. _Had they_ all _needed time in the pods?_

        “I’m glad to see you all doing well,” Allura said. “I’d like to apologize for my lack of caution when preparing you for—“

        “Where’s Lance?” Hunk interrupted.

        The sudden inquiry made Shiro snap to attention. He glanced around the room, mentally cursing himself for not doing a proper head count of his team. There was no sign of Lance. He wasn’t sitting with everyone else nor was he still in a pod. Shiro’s heart simultaneously iced over and dropped when he turned to both Allura and Coran for answers. They had fixed each other with sad eyes, as if they were silently figuring out how to properly word whatever news they had. _No, Lance couldn’t be_ —

        Shiro stood, pushing down the residual dizziness in favor of voicing his anxiety and repeating Hunk’s question.

        “Princess, where is he?” he asked, his voice sounding lost and shaky even to his own ears.

        He heard Pidge suck in a breath beside him. “H-he’s _not_ —? “

        “Oh, goodness, no. Lance is alive,” Allura said, quickly realizing the worry that her and Coran’s silence had caused. “He hardly had to spend any time in a healing pod at all.”

        The Paladins all sagged in relief.  Shiro closed his eyes. _Alive_. Lance was alive at least. They hadn’t lost him. There was still a certain tense air in the room though and Shiro knew that Lance was in some sort of trouble.

        “However,” Allura continued— _there it is_ —as she aimed her gaze at the floor. “He’s not alright either.”

        “What do you mean? “ Keith asked, his voice fearful in a way that was so unlike him that Shiro didn’t realize it had been him who’d spoken at first.

        “Lance has taken quite ill, I’m afraid,” Coran supplied.

        “He’s sick?” Hunk squeaked.

        “That’s the best way we can describe it…neither Coran nor I have seen anything like it before,” Allura said, her eyes taking on a haunted quality.

        Shiro opened his mouth to speak, but the Princess raised a hand to silence him.

        “It’s probably for the best that we go to him; you can see for yourselves that way,” she said. “Are all of you well enough to move?”

        In response, the remaining three Paladins stood. The anxiety caused by the unclear nature of Lance’s situation had shaken the worst of the post-healing pod fog from them—if the way Shiro was feeling was anything to go by that is.

        The six of them made their way to Lance’s room. Coran was giving them a play-by-play of what had happened during the mission, but Shiro was hardly listening. His thoughts were whirling with concern for his teammate. _What did they mean by ‘sick’? Just how bad was he? Did the pod mess up when it was healing him? Was he still hurt?_ His attention cut back in at the mention of the Lance’s name.

        “—and Lance was absolutely incredible! He ignored his wounds and somehow fended the rest of them off as we got you all to safety. You’d have been so proud of him, Shiro.”

        Well, _that much_ Shiro knew; he was always proud of Lance—of all of them. He made a mental note to tell them that more often. His teammates had advanced so well in their respective areas since the beginning. It was hardly their fault that things went awry as they did—whatever _had_ gone wrong. His memory was still muddy. But, he didn’t want to focus on the events he barely remembered. He wanted to know what was wrong _now_. He needed to see Lance.

        When they finally reached Lance’s closed door, Allura’s hand paused over the keypad.

        “I’m going to warn you,” she said. “Lance’s state is very…disturbing.”

        “And you just _left him_ the way he is?” Pidge said accusingly. “Why isn’t he in the infirmary right now if he’s sick?”

        Allura put her hands up. “I assure you that Coran and I took turns watching over him. It was all we could do. He doesn’t seem to be in any true medical distress and we were concerned that anything we might try would invite the possibility of making matters worse.”

        “Right,” Pidge mumbled. “Sorry. I’m just—“

        “We can handle whatever this is, Princess,” Shiro said, anxious to get the reveal over with. “Just let us see what we can do.”

        Allura nodded minutely and opened the door.

        From where Shiro was standing, he could see Lance sitting on his bed. His back was turned to them and he was sitting stock still. He didn’t even move to greet them as they entered. Even though they couldn’t see his face, Shiro was unnerved already. Seeing Lance, who was usually moving or fidgeting in some way, not making an effort to move a muscle made the pit of dread that had long since settled in his stomach grow even colder.

        Coran gently nudged past Shiro with a quick apology and made his way to Lance’s side. He slowly sat on the edge of the bed, letting his hand descend onto Lance’s back. Each movement was immensely careful; the Altean was clearly wary of startling the Blue Paladin. This approach seemed habitual, performed several times during however long Lance had been this way. A weary disappointment washed over Coran’s face as Lance continued to be unresponsive, as if he had been hopeful for a sudden change in the Blue Paladin’s condition.

        “Lance,” he said, keeping his voice low. “The others are out of the pods…they’re all fine.”

        He allowed a moment for Lance to respond, but nothing happened yet again. There wasn’t even a single shift in his posture to indicate that he’d heard the man speak at all.

        Coran shook his head, clearing his throat. It did nothing to ease the emotion in his voice.

        “I’m going to have them come in to see you now. Give us a sign if you don’t wish to be crowded…any sign at all. _Please_ , Lance.”

        Silence weighed heavy on everyone’s shoulders before Shiro took initiative and entered the room. He had attempted to steel himself for what he would see, but it was still a punch to the gut when he finally got a full view of his friend.

        Lance was sitting with his legs out in front of him which were bent halfway at the knees. It was like he had attempted to draw them up to his chest and hadn’t made it. His left hand was laying at a natural angle by his side, but the other hovered slightly above his right thigh; it seemed to be completely stuck there. _Oh, God._ His face was the worst. It was completely blank, save for his eyes which stared wide and clearly unseeing at the opposite wall. The sight had Shiro immediately springing into action. Coran stood so he could take his place.

        “Lance?” Shiro tried. Nothing. He wrapped an arm around Lance’s back to tentatively place a hand on the opposite shoulder. Giving him a gentle shake, he tried again. “Can you hear me?”

        The others filed in, nervous energy practically pouring off of them. Hunk and Pidge made quiet noises of shock while Keith remained silent, eyebrows pinched. He was processing—Shiro could see it in his face. Then, probably to the surprise of everyone in the room, Keith was the first of the three of them to make a move towards Lance. He clambered up onto the bed at his teammate’s feet, kneeling so that he was in his line of sight. His hand raised in a slight wave, trying to refocus Lance’s thousand-yard gaze.

        “Hey,” he said and it was quickly obvious he had also failed in breaking the Blue Paladin out of his strange trance. He let his hand fall, his fingers dropping feather-light onto Lance’s ankle. “ _Lance.”_

        Dark, sorrowful eyes met Shiro’s along with Keith’s rough voice saying, “He’s just looking right _through_ me.”

        Shiro sighed. “He’s not all there right now, Keith.”

        “T-that’s just,” Pidge started. “Like, a full-blown catatonic stupor isn’t it?”

        “Looks like it,” Shiro breathed. He rubbed his hand up and down Lance’s arm as he looked to Coran and Allura and asked, “How long has he been like this?”

        “Shortly after he got out of the pod; about eighteen vargas,” Coran said. Before anyone could react, he continued, “Might I ask what’s happening? You seem to know.”

        “Oh, right,” Shiro said, trying to come up with a proper explanation. He looked to his fellow Paladins, but neither of them seemed to know much. It didn’t bode well for Lance’s recovery if literally no one on the Castle knew how to proceed, but that wouldn’t stop them from trying.  

        Hunk sniffed.

        “I don’t actually understand the science behind this,” he said. “Lance is kind of unconscious, but not really? His brain’s, like, half shut down, but he’s still sort of awake…just _stuck_ and—ah, it’s hard to explain.”

        “I just know it can go hand-in-hand with trauma or depression,” Pidge supplied, speaking unnecessarily quietly. “I guess if it’s bad enough, the body doesn’t know how to handle things and decides to just freeze up. Like a fight-or-flight response gone wrong. You get—I think Hunk put it really well—physically and mentally _stuck_ …totally unaware of everything going on around you.”

        Coran hummed. “Fascinating…but, absolutely horrifying. How do we help him?”

        “I really wish we had an answer for that,” Shiro said, mildly disappointed in himself. He knew he shouldn’t be guilty over not knowing enough about a rare condition to help Lance, but he couldn’t stop it.

        “How about we give him some more time then?” Allura suggested, her voice gentle and surprisingly composed. “He may be close to coming back to us.”

        Shiro wished he could draw on Allura’s admirable strength because he felt immensely weak and useless at that moment. There was no threat to beat up or protect his friend from this time—only Lance’s own brain working against him. Being forced to sit there and watch him suffer was agonizing, but Shiro nodded in silent agreement to the Princess’ temporary solution. They could at least be there for him. Even if he didn’t know it.

        Almost on auto-pilot, Shiro found himself shuffling the rest of the way onto the bed, situating himself behind Lance with his legs on either side of the younger boy. With some difficulty—given Lance’s near-rigidness—he gathered his friend into his arms and held him as closely as he dared. Shiro looked up to find the others looking at him quizzically.

        “What?” he asked, almost defensively. _So what if he wanted to be close to Lance? He was allowed._

        Hunk smiled. “Nothing. That’s actually a really good idea; giving him something to come back to.”

        Following his leader’s example, Hunk sat on the edge of the bed, pressing his side up against Shiro’s as he took Lance’s hand. Keith scooted closer to the others so that he could place a light hand on Lance’s knee and keep an eye on his face, which he stared at intently. Pidge was next, scrambling behind Keith and around to Shiro’s other side so that she could wedge herself in between him and the wall. She busied herself with running her small fingers through Lance’s hair.

        “What if he _doesn’t_ wake up, though?” she asked.

        Shiro struggled to swallow past a sudden lump in his throat. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it, kiddo. Don’t worry.”

        It was a little hypocritical for him to say as he could do nothing _but_ worry—he could just sit and wait and _worry_ himself sick.

        They all sat there, offering comfort to Lance that he couldn’t perceive. The Alteans stood quietly observing nearby, likely not wanting to intrude on this moment between the Paladins (although no one would have objected to them joining in). Hunk and Shiro took turns speaking quietly to their unresponsive friend—words of encouragement and assurances that they were there. Pidge occasionally chimed in with some sort of plea for him to wake up or say something. Keith kept up his gentle hold on Lance, not knowing what to say or maybe not how to properly say what he wanted to.

        It was another hour before anything changed. Lance started to slowly regain consciousness, his fingers twitching slightly and his limbs going limp as his muscles finally relaxed. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for any kind of conscious motion or response. Then, a pained groan sounded in the back of Lance’s throat as he slumped down, his eyes finally closing. He was probably insanely sore. Despite the nature of the noise, Shiro found himself nearly in tears with relief. He gently pressed his face to the side of Lance’s head.

       “That’s it, Lance,” he said. “Come back now. You’re okay.”

       Lance shifted slightly. It was the first natural movement he had made.

       “Sh’ro?” he croaked, his voice thick with confusion.

       “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me,” Shiro confirmed.

        Lance’s breathing suddenly picked up; he was panicking. His free hand reached out almost blindly. It was like he had forcibly brought himself back to the surface of lucidity as he spoke, absolutely frantic.

        “A-are you okay? Is everyone safe? It was so bad, Shiro. I—“

        Hunk squeezed the hand he’d already been holding, cutting of his friend’s ramblings with a calm, but still tearful voice.

        “Buddy, it’s okay. Everyone’s here. Just open your eyes okay?” he said. Shiro couldn’t see Lance’s face, but he knew the second he obeyed when Hunk started beaming. “There. See? Just relax and look around you, okay? _We’re all here_. Relax.”

        They gave Lance a moment to take in his surroundings and calm down as Shiro continued his previous litany of assurances. He noticed then that Keith, without thinking, had taken Lance’s other hand while it had been scrambling in the air. He seemed slightly frozen in embarrassment at having done so, but he also hadn’t let it go. It may have been funny if it also wasn’t such a sweet gesture as well—however unintentional.

        Lance finally settled again after quietly studying everyone’s faces, pleased that they all seemed to be alright compared to whatever condition they had been.

        “Everyone’s okay,” he said. It was the wrong cadence for a question, but still like a ‘true or false’ statement that begged an answer.

        “Yes, my boy,” Coran answered gently. He and Allura had allowed themselves to approach the group and kneel by the bed.

        The Blue Paladin sighed loudly in relief. “I’m really glad. That…that s _ucked_.”

        Shiro huffed a breath of laughter. _Biggest understatement ever_. “The rest of us passed out before we could really see any of the damage like you did. I’m sorry that things turned out that way.”

        Lance only hummed in response. He was being uncharacteristically quiet and Shiro hated the implications of it. The state he had been in had spoken volumes to how much the failed battle had affected him. There was no doubt that Lance was still plagued by that living nightmare—Shiro _had_ to get him to talk about it. No way would he let this be swept under the rug. He was about to speak, but Lance beat him to it.

        “Um, I’m super confused about something right now...besides this cuddle party we’re having” he said. “Not complaining but—“

        “What is it?” Keith prompted.

        Lance shifted again. “So, I got out of the pod, like, half an hour ago and Coran said that you guys would still be a really long time…?”

_Oh, no._ Lance had no clue what had happened to him. He was oblivious to how long he’d been, for lack of a better term, _gone_ and just how much he’d scared everyone. Shiro unconsciously tightened his hold on him.

        “Lance, you—you’ve been…” he began, trying to be delicate.

        “You were completely catatonic for over eighteen hours,” Pidge interrupted.

        Lance inhaled sharply, back straightening. “I—what?”

        “We were all so worried,” Hunk said. “Coran and Allura had no idea what was going on and we were just as lost and—man, it’s so good to have you back.”

        “What even happened?” Keith asked.

        “I dunno.” Lance angled his head so that Shiro could see his face. “This has never happened to me before.”

        “I think Keith is asking what led to this,” Shiro said. “Do you remember what you were feeling before it happened?”

         Lance visibly looked inward, the concentration it was taking to replay fuzzy events wrinkling the space between his eyebrows. Realization suddenly ironed out the creases of his face and he ducked his head again, either because his neck was getting sore or that he felt like hiding. His knees bent slightly in a failed attempt at curling up.

        “I was scared,” he admitted.

        Hunk ran his thumb over Lance’s knuckles.

        “It must have been horrifying to see us all like that,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

        Lance shook his head. “T-that wasn’t the whole reason—I mean, it was the _beginning_ of it, but it kind of escalated from there…“

        No one pushed Lance to continue; they gave him some time to find his words. He took a breath, preparing for a long explanation.

        “Once I got out of the pod and everything caught up to me, I freaked out. It took a little convincing, but Coran finally got me to realize that you’d all be fine. I thought it might be best to come to my room and try to sleep instead of keeping, like, a mother hen watch over you and getting in the way. I _knew_ you guys were okay and that I should just calm down, but I _couldn’t_. My brain kept going over and over what might have happened if we hadn’t been so lucky.”

        It had been a massive panic spiral. No wonder Lance had shut down like he did. It broke Shiro’s heart to think of him sitting alone in his room dealing with that—and not dealing with it well at all on top of it. Lance started shaking.

        “You guys should know by now that I see you as family,” he continued quietly. “I was scared that I almost lost the closest thing I have to that out here in one go. No matter how long I thought about it, I couldn’t think of a single way to change what happened. I couldn’t have _saved you_. I couldn’t—I don’t know what I would have—“  

        Lance finally dissolved into tears, unable to bury his emotions in his hands that were still caught in the tight hold of his teammates.

        Shiro was speechless. He didn’t realize he’d started crying himself until Lance had stopped speaking. He drew the Blue Paladin almost impossibly closer, his face falling into the brown mess of his hair. Lance didn’t deserve this. None of them did. No one should have to worry day in and day out about losing those they care about, knowing that each happy moment with them could very well be the last. Shiro didn’t know how he’d ever get over losing any one of them—let alone all of them at once.

        He then felt both Hunk and Pidge wrap their arms around him and Lance. With slight hesitation, Keith carefully joined them as well. He squeezed in so that he was holding Lance rather than being wrapped around the whole group—not without a quiet inquiry to the Blue Paladin (“Is this okay?”), which was met with a wordless affirmation. The mattress dipped a little dangerously as Coran and Allura all but threw themselves into the mix.

        Lance was right; they _were_ family. Shiro and most of the other Paladins had people waiting for them back home (Keith must have suddenly felt _very_ vulnerable; this was _literally_ everything he had). Heck, Pidge had family _out there_ that she was still looking for. But, for now, it was just the seven of them, along with five cryptic space cats and the ever-present hum of an enormous, empty ship. It was a tiny world that needed protection just like any of the others that they saved on a near-daily basis.

        Allura pulled away from them slightly.

        “Lance, if I may?” she asked—Lance’s head poked up in surprise at the fact that the Princess seemed to be asking him _permission_ before she spoke. He nodded nonetheless and Allura accepted that as an adequate response.

        “I…at first I wanted to say to try not and dwell on a ‘what if’, but that would be cruel of me,” she began. “You can’t always help but wonder what you could have done differently to prevent something or…what would have happened if you had been in the right place to help those you love.”

        She paused, swallowing hard.

        “Instead I’d like you to promise me that if you ever feel this way again, that you’ll talk to any one of us. _Please_. I never want to see you this bad again,” she said. “The same goes to all of you.”

        “And to you, Princess,” Coran added.

        Everyone focused their attention on Lance.

        “O-okay,” he said. “I think I can do that.”

        “I think so too,” Keith said. “You always were the best at talking.”

        Lance scoffed. “And _proud of it_.”

        The stagnant, sad atmosphere significantly diffused and there was unspoken permission for someone to change the topic.

        “So, does anyone else want food?” Pidge asked. “I’ve got a horrible case of healing pod stomach—i.e. I’m starving.”

        “Ugh, _totally_ ,” Hunk groaned.

         Lance gave a fake dramatic whine. “In a minute. I’m comfy.” He turned into Shiro’s chest a little more, causing the Black Paladin to chuckle fondly.

        “Seriously, Lance,” he said. “We need to get something into you.”

        “Yeah, you’re probably massively dehydrated,” Keith added.

        “Yup, well, if you were actually worried about that, Keith, then overheating me by sticking so close wasn’t the best idea, was it?” Lance said. “You’re like a _furnace_.”

         Shiro knew that Lance wasn’t actually upset. He was simply trying his best to quickly start acting like himself again so that everyone could stop worrying—because that’s what he _really_ did best. Even if that involved going out of his way to rile Keith up, it was worth it to help people forget their anxieties for a little while.

        “You were freaked out! It only seemed…normal to do that—or something,” Keith ineffectively defended.

        “D’aww, you’re just a secret snugglebug, aren’t you?” Lance teased, earning a flick in the elbow from a furiously blushing Red Paladin.

        “ _No_ , I just—ugh, whatever!”

        “Ha! I win!” Lance went to pump his fist in the air, but didn’t take his sore arms into account. He hissed before giving a resigned sigh. “I _am_ pretty thirsty, actually.”

        “ _Told you_.”

        Coran suggested that they follow Pidge and Hunk’s request and move themselves to the dining hall. Lance was assisted off of the bed and he wobbled a bit as he stood. He seemed to be able to walk fine on his own, but Shiro and Hunk both hovered just in case he faltered.

        As they made their way away from Lance’s room, a sense of near-normalcy clicked into place and Shiro was finally able to relax. He did catch Lance’s expression though, which was happy, but still contained a sliver of unease. The Black Paladin placed a hand on his shoulder and met Lance’s gaze with a reassuring smile.

        They’d be okay. They couldn’t possibly stay that way all the time…, but for now, they’d be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, there!  
> Thanks for reading! I'm sorry that this came out a little later than I intended, but at least I didn't leave for two months like last time.
> 
> I'd also like to say how awesome it is that my weird little project broke 100 kudos with only the first two chapters! So, thank you all so much for that and for the lovely comments. It keeps me excited to continue writing these!
> 
> See you as soon as I can for the next chapter! It's going to be Pidge.
> 
> You can always reach me [on tumblr](http://tazlwyrm.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks again,  
> \- tazlwyrm


	4. Dislocated (Pidge)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge has taken a hit for one of her teammates and is in need of a healing pod, but her shoulder is dislocated and needs to be put back in place first.
> 
>  
> 
> **Content Warning: There's mention of a little blood in this chapter and, of course, I'd skip this one if you've had a bad experience with getting something relocated or if you're just squeamish about the subject.**

                 Lance and Hunk already had Pidge laid out on an examination table when Coran burst into the infirmary. The two boys looked up as he approached, the fear in their eyes made even more disturbing by the blood smeared across their armor—it wasn’t a lot, but enough to spur Coran into moving faster.

                “What happened?” he asked, briskly jogging to their side. He winced as his voice came out a little sharper and more demanding than he had intended.

                “Pidge took a hit for me,” Hunk said quickly. His eyes were glossy with unshed tears as his large hands provided pressure to what was probably a gash in Pidge’s side. “I didn’t even see—I couldn’t stop…” He trailed off, bowing his head as he was overwhelmed by guilt.

                Ah, so it was another case of someone taking the whole “watching each other’s backs” concept a tad too far. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but Coran truly wished they’d be a little more careful when the need arose. He’d prefer if it was less of a trade of who got injured and more both parties getting out of danger. It never got any easier to see any of the Paladins hurt—their youngest least of all.

                Pidge had already been stripped of the top half of her armor. She was still conscious by the looks of things, her eyes clenched tightly shut as she attempted to breathe through the pain. Coran took minute comfort in this sign that she was still with them. Only a small portion of the flight suit around the wound was saturated with blood, so at the very least she wasn’t close to bleeding out, but it was still imperative to get her into a healing pod as soon as—

                Coran inhaled sharply as he noticed the second affliction. Pidge’s shoulder—the one opposite to the wound—was clearly out of its socket. She must have staggered from the force of the blow she received, not in the right mind to properly catch herself when she fell. Lance was dutifully keeping the limb stabilized, holding it bent across Pidge’s chest. The injured Paladin squirmed a little in agony.

                “Hey,” Lance gently scolded her. “Don’t move so much, okay?”

                “ _Hurts_ ,” Pidge whined, half-delirious from the pain.

                Lance shushed her as he turned his attention to Coran.

                “She, uh…she can’t go into the pod like this, can she?” he asked, dread making his voice thin.

                “Right you are,” Coran said.

                The pod would attempt to heal the shoulder as it was, and they’d end up having to re-injure it once Pidge was out. Coran shuddered at the thought. He rounded the table, gently ushering Lance out of his way. The Blue Paladin didn’t go far, choosing to move next to Hunk and regard Pidge with a sympathetic look.

                Coran was reaching for the affected arm when Hunk’s incredulous tone interrupted him.

                “Wait! Whoa, whoa, whoa. No anesthetic?” 

                “If the shoulder was the only problem, I would,” Coran defended. “Unfortunately, the pods and local anesthetic don’t mix particularly well.”

                 He’d never understood why no one— or even he for that matter—had tried to remedy this oversight. Although, the pods _were_ typically used only for emergency situations where heavily wounded victims needed to be rushed into them, so pain relief would come just as instantaneously when they fell into cryosleep for the entirety of the healing process. Anesthetic was a little obsolete, but Coran still took a moment to mourn the fact that Pidge would have to go without when it was so desperately needed.

                “ _Ugh_ …’lotta rules for such advanced tech,” Pidge complained in a brief moment of clarity. She hissed as Coran began to move her arm away from her chest. She looked at him with wet eyes that shined with fear for what was about to be done. He allowed himself a small smile.

                “Yes, _quite_ ,” he agreed. “No worries, though. I’ll have this back in place for you in two shakes of a Quekryll’s tail,“—he paused, noticing three pairs of confused eyes staring back at him as his reference was yet again lost to the humans—“and they have two, so it will be…twice as fast…more like one shake, really.”

                With his attempt at levity failed, Coran very carefully went to work. Although it was impossible not to hurt Pidge throughout the process, the Altean’s heart still ached to do so. To the girl’s credit, she was remarkably good at not making her pain known, only letting slip a few whimpers. He met no resistance from her as he massaged muscles and positioned the arm as he pleased.

                At some point, Lance had started to card his hand through Pidge’s sweat-soaked hair. His other was occupying the space between Hunk’s shoulder blades—the poor boy was visibly shaking, but he continued to hold his hands firmly over the still bleeding wound. Lance offered soothing words to the both of them, managing to keep his head as his friends went through their own crises.  

                The vague peace was shattered as Coran rotated Pidge’s shoulder and it popped back into place with an audible crack. The sickening sound was quickly drowned out as she let out a short, agonized shriek. Lance sprung back as if he’d been burned, frightened by the sudden noise, but he was quick to return to his friend as she devolved into sobs. He smoothed Pidge’s hair out of her eyes and let his hand linger there—clearly this was the only place he felt was safe to touch.

                “It’s okay,” he said, and there was a desperation in his tone that almost made the reassurance fall flat. He tried again. “Your shoulder’s back in. You’re gonna be fine now, yeah?”

                Pidge nodded, speech failing her as she tried to catch her breath. She already looked a bit more lucid—from experience, Coran knew that the horrific pain in her shoulder was quickly dissipating now that it was back in place. He kept a hold on the relocated limb, taking up Lance’s earlier role of not allowing it to be jostled at all. Hunk, who had been strangely quiet throughout the whole process, lowered his forehead to Pidge’s uninjured shoulder.

                “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I never shoulda let this happen—never to you. You didn’t need to do that. Not for me. Man, the _one time_ that I let my guard down and you have to—I was so _dumb_ —“

                “Hey, none of that,” Pidge interrupted. There was very little strength in her words, but her demand to be heard came through well enough. “This was my choice; if I want to look out for you guys, then I _will_.”

                Hunk lifted his head to meet her eyes defiantly. “But—“

                “ _No—_ and if I get hurt in the process, then that’s on me. I miscalculated and didn’t manage to get myself out of the way. My mistake…not yours…the end.”

                Her voice began to peter out; the effect of the adrenaline wearing off was catching up to her. It was this that prevented Hunk from arguing, but the discussion was far from over—if Coran had anything to say about it anyway. He was already going over plans in his head to talk to the whole team about proper ways to approach protective maneuvers.

                Hunk let his head drop down again, a gesture that Coran understood was in lieu of the hug he obviously wanted to give her.

                “ _Fine,_ ” he said, momentarily relenting.

                Lance laughed a little, tangling his fingers into light brown strands.

                “Well, there you have it,” he said with fond amusement. “Can’t stop Pidge from being the little _boss_ that she is, huh?”

                Pidge huffed in mild annoyance, but a tired smile found its way to her face. She turned her head to lean into Lance’s touch and bring her face close to Hunk’s dark locks.

                “ _Stop_ ,” she said. It was barely audible and anything else that she wanted to say was lost in a pained groan. She was probably starting to feel that wound.

                Hunk shot up at her tone, eyes wide.

                “Okay, um, guys—should probably get Pidge into that pod now,” he said.

                Coran straightened. “Right. Now, I do hate to be that person, but I’ll remind you two that you’re covered in blood. How about you go clean up and I’ll finish getting her settled, hm?”

                Hunk paled a little at that revelation, but he swallowed his nausea and said, “You sure you don’t need any help?”

                The Altean understood the boy’s reluctance to leave his friend, but, to be perfectly honest, Coran wanted the room to work in peace. He shook his head.

                “It’s quite alright, lad. Go on,” he said.

                 Lance and Hunk turned to leave, not without stealing a glance back at Pidge.

                 “See you on the other side, Pidge,” Lance said, gently patting her good shoulder. The Green Paladin didn’t respond with anything further than an affirmative hum.

                 The two boys slowly made their way out of the infirmary. There was quiet conversation between them that Coran could barely make out as it faded away in their wake. He did manage to catch Hunk’s “I messed up so bad” and the beginning of Lance saying, “C’mon, man. It’s cool. She already said—“and then nothing more.

                 Coran busied himself with getting Pidge out of the rest of her armor. The flight suit stuck a little to the white cloth underneath as he pulled it away from the wound, which had more or less stopped bleeding due to Hunk’s efforts. He gathered the small body into his arms. She had already fallen asleep—or passed out. Either way, she was oblivious to the motion and Coran’s quiet promises regarding her wellbeing. It had been quite some time since he’d held one as young and small as her. The nostalgia he felt was warm in his chest and he welcomed it.

                 Once Pidge was safely inside one of the pods, Coran noticed a small amount of blood left over on the examination table. He took a moment to wipe it off before dismissing the table back into the floor.

                 Hunk and Lance returned shortly with Shiro and Keith in tow—Coran was happy to see that the two of them had returned unharmed from their half of the mission. Shiro looked slightly fearful, but calmed minutely at the sight of Pidge safe and on her way to being healed. There was a small flurry of questions, but eventually, the four boys quieted and settled themselves onto the steps. They conversed briefly about the mission and Coran couldn’t help but notice each of them regularly holding worried gazes on their injured teammate. They’d all do well to have her back with them.

                 A decision was then made to retire for dinner and an early bed time, but Hunk stayed behind as the others moved to leave.

                “I, uh—I’m not hungry,” he said. “Think I’ll just stick around here.”

                Shiro stepped up. “Hunk—“

                He was interrupted as Lance held a hand out to him. The Blue Paladin’s next words were gentle, but still came with a light scowl—likely out of concern rather than genuine ire.

               “Okay, nope. You’re still gonna eat,” he said. “But, you can hang back; I’ll bring you something.”

               Hunk opened his mouth, but closed it again. Instead, he smiled for the first time since the ordeal with Pidge began and the mood in the room instantly went up a notch.

               Lance did exactly as promised. Coran stepped into the dining room a few dobashes after everyone else—just in time to watch Lance squeeze past him in the doorway with two plates of food goo. He didn’t return and the absence of three members of their team was felt, but understood.

               It wasn’t at all surprising when Coran popped into the infirmary later that evening to find that the Lance and Hunk had dragged in several pillows and blankets, clearly intending to spend the night. They’d set up fairly close to the occupied pod where The Green Paladin slept on, unaware of her friends who refused to leave her side.

               Coran did a quick check of Pidge’s vitals and her healing progress—everything was in order. His presence didn’t disturb the boys and their strange Earthling card game nor their discussion of some film that he obviously wouldn’t recognize even if he tried. It was simply good to see the two of them in higher spirits after the day’s events.

               The Altean felt no apprehension while turning in for the night, knowing full well that Pidge was in good hands should she be returned to them early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all!
> 
> Sorry that this one was a little late again! I hope you enjoyed reading it anyway.
> 
> Thanks again for the kudos and comments that I've gotten between this chapter and the last! They're really appreciated. Next up is Shiro and then we'll be getting into the less structured list (I just wanted the first five chapters to feature each Paladin and now I can move all over the place in terms of subject).
> 
> See you then!  
> \- tazlwyrm 
> 
>  
> 
> [Come yell at me on Tumblr](http://tazlwyrm.tumblr.com/)


	5. Eye Injury (Shiro)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro awakes to find he has sustained a grievous injury to his eyes, and there's the grim realization that this incident may leave him blind...  
> [Shiro and Keith based hurt/comfort. Intended as platonic.]
> 
> **Content Warning: While it's not described in visual detail, this chapter mentions a lot of blood and, as the title suggests, some eye trauma.**

       Shiro awoke in some of the worst pain imaginable—not the worst that he had _personally_  experienced, but it was definitely up there as a valid contender. It seemed to radiate from the majority of upper face as he tried to peel his eyelids open. He couldn’t stop a surprised hiss of pain from escaping him, nor the involuntary tears rolling down his face. While the prospect of facing whatever situation he was in completely blind, he decided not to try that again any time soon.

        He realized that he had zero bearing on where he was, nor did he have any indication as to whether he was in danger or not. Thoughts of capture ran wild and he tried to calm himself by taking inventory: he wasn’t bound in any way, that much he could tell. Beyond the stabbing pain in his face, he didn’t seem to be badly hurt anywhere else and he was sitting up against a wall. Unfortunately, that didn’t offer any clues. It wasn’t like walls were indicative of anywhere specific. Walls could mean prison cells, or holding areas on enemy ships—no sense in entertaining thoughts of safety, right?

        Also where were the rest of his team? Were they safe? Or were they with him, just out of arms reach in the same room, hurt and unconscious or—?

        There was then shuffling coming from somewhere near him and he startled, unconsciously activating his Galra arm in a show of defense.

        “Who’s there?” he demanded, trying his best to make himself as threatening as possible to discourage a potential attacker, but his voice choked as the movement pulled at his injuries, reigniting the sharp burn across his eyes.

        The answer came quickly and helped put Shiro at minor ease. It was Keith, speaking low and cautious as he said, “Whoa, hey. It’s just me.”

       He didn’t sound injured. Just a little shaken and worried. Honestly, Shiro was simply happy to have him there. Even if that idea was a little selfish if they were in trouble. While he hated being vulnerable, he had to admit that, yeah, he was, and the familiar presence was a comfort. Especially seeing as his friend didn’t seem to be hurt as badly as he was. Shiro took a breath, adrenaline beginning to fade and make way for a stronger wave of pain.

       “Where are we?” he asked, clipped and half through his teeth.

       A hand touched his shoulder. “We’re on the Red Lion. You’re hurt. Try to relax—and don’t open your eyes, okay?”

      “Yeah, I—uh, figured that last bit out,” Shiro said, practically melting in relief at discovering that he was somewhere safe. Now the source of his absolute __agony__  could be fully addressed.

       “What happened?”

        Keith was quiet and Shiro felt the air grow heavier. Like he could almost reach into it and pluck out a handful his friend’s hesitation and fear.

        “D-don’t freak out,” Keith began. “You got hit in the face and—I didn’t even know this was possible…why was it so _possible_?”

        “ _Keith._ ”

        “Your visor got smashed in.” Shiro heard him swallow. “You’ve got glass all around your eyes…and maybe in them too. __Don’t open them__.”

        A lump of ice settled in Shiro’s stomach. Shards of glass. In his __eyes__. So, it hadn’t been tears leaking from them earlier—it was blood. He could feel it now, settled in sticky streaks on his skin and nearly passed out again, but held firm. His eyes were probably really damaged, possibly beyond repair. What did that mean for him? Was he blind now? Could that be fixed? Oh, god, what would that mean for __Voltron?__  Sure, Black might be able to help him with flying for a while, but eventually the team would have to think about replacing—wait.

       “You didn’t leave the Black Lion behind, did you?” Shiro asked, a little disappointed with himself for his lapse of usually unwavering faith in Keith, but he was too anxious to wait.

       “She’s here, flying close to us—kinda __too close__ , but I don’t blame her.”

      Sighing in relief, Shiro tried reaching out to Black with his mind, becoming aware that she’d been attempting to do the same since he awoke. He expected just a distant reassurance, but instead, her presence seemed to wrap around him. In the darkness, he found that he could see her—or sense a suggestion of her, shadow moving on shadow. He could almost feel her curled up beside him with her head in his lap, purring lowly like a real—obscenely large—cat. The glowing of her eyes was felt more than seen, and warm. _All will be well, my Paladin_.

       They weren’t really words; the Lions didn’t talk to them like that, but the insistence behind the feeling she was projecting came through. Even though Shiro had a hard time fully believing her, he took a mild comfort in the possibility that things __might__ right themselves.

       “Thanks,” he said, out loud by accident.

       Whether Keith took it as being directed at him was unknown, but he moved away from Shiro’s side, mumbling something to the tune of, “Be back in a sec.”

       But, Shiro had a final question, quickly and nervously asking, “Are the others okay?”

       “They’re fine, Shiro. __You’re__  the one in trouble,” Keith answered patiently, sounding like he was only a couple feet away, loudly rummaging through something. The med kit, judging by the rattling of a few bottles. “Relax.”

      Shiro complied, letting his head fall back against the wall—that was a bad idea. It just served to jar his injuries. The pain was becoming more intense and he reflexively squeezed his eyes tighter to combat it, which of course just made it worse and he felt fresh blood roll down his face. Now that he knew the cause, he was hyper-aware of it, almost able to feel each individual chunk of glass shifting around in his skin. He gave a low groan as his body began to tremble at the idea. Something touched his face and he flinched.

       “Sorry!” Just Keith again. __Get it together.__  “Sorry, should have warned you. I’m just trying to wipe some of the blood away…it’s __bad__ , Shiro.”

       It wasn’t exactly the __best__ bedside manner, but Keith was trying his hardest. Shiro weakly waved his hand, dismissing the accident.

       “It’s okay. Just let me know what you’re gonna do before you do it,” he said.

       There was a frustrated sigh, directed entirely inwardly, not at Shiro. “Okay.”

       Keith took a moment and, after a verbal confirmation that he was about to try again, he set about meticulously, but gently, cleaning the gore from Shiro’s face with what felt like a folded piece of gauze (or a softer, Altean equivalent). He focused his efforts on the bottom half, staying away from the wounds themselves and trying not to pull at the skin too much. There wasn’t a lot he could do about the glass, so he was avoiding aggravating the foreign objects and making the situation worse. Shiro wondered what the purpose of the action was. Maybe Keith just needed to feel like he was helping in some way, while simultaneously finding an outlet for his nervous energy by keeping busy. That or removing some of the blood gave the illusion that things weren’t nearly as bad as they were.

      Either way, Shiro didn’t try to stop him. He was in pain and the fear of being blinded forever was gnawing at his insides and leaving behind gaping holes of dread. Agony began to come in waves rather than being a constant. One moment he’d be almost numb to it, just feeling a dull ache, only to have a single twitch of a facial muscle tear a yelp from his throat and send him bleeding all over again. Keith would mop it away each time, either silently or with repetitive, but comforting, reassurances. Those simple touches, along with Keith’s disembodied voice and Black’s vague presence, kept Shiro grounded in a reality he couldn’t see. One that he might not see again.

       “Keith,” he said thinly.

       The hand quickly drew away. “I can stop doing that if you—”

       “No. No, it’s fine…I was just thinking that this might be it.”

       “You’re not __dying__.”

       “I mean this might be it for me being a part of the team…I might be useless after today.”

        Keith easily gathered what Shiro had meant by that and was frustrated by the implications. He responded a second later.

       “Shiro, you wouldn’t be useless. You’d have a handicap, definitely, but you could never be __useless__.”

       Shiro allowed himself a brief smile—yet another mistake. He hissed, momentarily forced to speak through his teeth.

       “I appreciate that, and you’re right, but still—”

       “You’re scared of being blind,” Keith interrupted.

      “Yeah.” Shiro breathed. Silence held them captive for a moment before allowing him to say, “I don’t want to be brought out of things like this…I’d hate to leave you guys alone out there.”

       He had always considered the very real possibility that the position of Leader would shift to someone else in the team, but, as morbid as it sounded, he always thought that it would be because he would be dead. He had accepted that. But, now Shiro was facing a whole new branch of possibility. That this would happen because he was maimed, unable to fight anymore, and taken away from the front line. He could sit back and offer advice or input in certain situations, but beyond that, he would be forced to stay behind, fearing for the safety of his friends as they went into battle where he couldn’t watch over them. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust each of them to be successful, but if one of those kids got hurt…or worse…it would dig at his heart twice as hard than normal. He would be there through whatever pain as always, but powerless to even try to  prevent it in the first place. And __that__  was quickly becoming the worst thing about this.

       “I get it,” Keith said, void of pity and bursting with understanding.

       He gently placed his hand on the back of Shiro’s neck and gave it a reassuring squeeze as he said, “Everything’s gonna be alright. We’ll get you fixed up, and if that’s not possible—” He paused, searching. “We’ll figure it out. You know we’re here to help you.”

       Shiro did his best remember through all the pain and uncertainty that his team would do everything in their power to make him feel needed and wanted, regardless of what state this incident left him in. He would always appreciate that effort, even if his own doubts became to strong and nullified it. They would __try__ , and that’s all he could ask of them. That thought alone made it easier for Shiro to ever-so-slightly begin to accept his possible fate. Not fully, of course. That would be a much longer, much more difficult journey if it came to it. At least he wouldn’t have to see himself to the end of it alone.

       “I know. Thanks, buddy.” Shiro grimaced through another stab of pain. “Should still prepare for the worst though.”

       Keith released his gentle hold on Shiro and opted to sit down next to him instead of resuming his task, clearly realizing its pointlessness. The wheels almost audibly turned in his head, only drowned out by the hum of the Red Lion as she propelled them on auto-pilot towards the Castle.

       “Maybe there’s a kind of Lion…thing you could tap into,” he said. “Like some psychic superpower crap.”

      Gentle amusement radiated from the Black Lion. It was unlikely in spite of the idea; she was more sensitive than that. Maybe Keith wasn’t completely off on that being possible, but his choice of words was endearingly crude. Shiro gave an exhausted, floaty chuckle. “Psychic superpower crap” didn’t seem all that far-fetched; they were pretty much halfway there anyway with the connection they already had with the Lions. Perhaps Black could help him out in more ways than that. Another long purr sounded from her and Shiro didn’t know whether to take it as an affirmative or not. Although he was starting to realize he couldn’t make out a lot of anything at the moment.

      All of the sounds around him were becoming faded and jumbled, like a bad radio reception caught between two channels. The pain also seemed far away now. Not a good sign; the blood-loss was getting the better of him and he started to feel a little shock-y. Nausea flipped his stomach around itself as there was a familiar shift beneath him. The Red Lion was settling into her hangar. He fought the urge to puke, but he was also just so, so _tired_ all of a sudden that he almost couldn’t control that.

       Keith’s voice broke through the mess of his senses. “Shiro?”

      He sounded scared, as if he had been trying to get his attention for a little while now. Shiro could feel the pressure of Keith’s hands on his forearms, gently shaking him, clearly not opposed to jostling him anymore. He was quickly weakening, but he mustered enough strength to turn his head in the direction of Keith’s voice, registering the feeling of multiple drops of blood leaving more macabre trails over his marred face. Not that he could bring himself to care anymore.

      “M’here,” he said. _Not for long though_. He’d locked the door against unconsciousness, but it was seeping slowly through the cracks.

      “Shiro, stay awake. _Please_.”

     Keith was beyond anxious again. Shiro hated that he was the cause of it, but he just couldn’t keep up with those instructions. His body was failing him, worn down by his injuries, demanding rest. Black understood. As much as it seemed to pain her, she backed off, leaving his mind free to shut down to the world. He was ready to tap out, seeking an escape from his pain, and Black seemed to think that he was safe enough to do so. It was for the best that he passed out anyway; the glass would have to removed before they could put him in a healing pod. Being awake during that was not an experience Shiro felt up to having. Ever.

      A hand settled over his, while another found itself in the juncture between his shoulder and neck. Keith’s panicked tones floated in front of him, but he couldn’t fathom the words they created. With a mumbled apology, Shiro let himself go. He heard and felt multiple footsteps pounding towards him. A voice that distinctly belonged to Lance spoke near him as he finally collapsed sideways into someone’s hands. Everything else was lost to a purer, less aware darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I don't know if it's possible for the visors on their helmets to shatter like that, but we're applying the rule of drama here, folks. I also decided to go the short and sweet route on this chapter and leave the ending ambiguous to the reader because I'm the devil. You decide if you want this to be a blind!Shiro AU or not. It's an adventure~
> 
> Sorry for the delay on this one again! I struggled a bit with my self-imposed challenge to write something largely without being able to use the sense of sight. Also the siren call of my novel beckoned me for a while.
> 
> Wow, this project has surpassed 200 kudos since the last update! Thank you all so much! Those and comments are always highly appreciated. 
> 
> Who else is pumped for season 6 tomorrow? I know I am. Sounds like it's gonna wreck us as per the norm or even more than that! Good luck!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed. I'll see you all for the next one. 
> 
> \- tazlwyrm  
> [TUMBLR](http://tazlwyrm.tumblr.com/)


	6. Fall (Lance)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a run-in with some violent alien wildlife, Lance takes a bit of a tumble, and his problems don't end there.  
>  **[Set at a nebulous point of early season 3, before Shiro gets back, but after the Lion Swap]**  
>  I also used a bit of creative liberty with the prompt this time. Like, a fall happens, but the rest is just me going rogue.

        It was hard to account for biological landmines when entering an unknown alien environment. Worst of all: violent, territorial ones. What had started out as simple, planet-side recon had led to the team facing down several, large warthog-like alien animals.

       It had been an accident. Simply stumbling upon the grazing beasts had been enough set them off into a rage. The species didn’t seem to have any warning displays, choosing to attack anything that moved and wasn’t a part of their herd. Original mission momentarily forgotten, Pidge was focused on getting herself and the others out of there safely. Even if it meant, however unfortunately, killing their way out. They weren’t being left with much choice; these things would only relax once their so-called threat had been stomped into pulp in the dirt.

         Pidge was having a hard time of things. Her fighting style didn’t seem to be working to her advantage against the wild animals. She was starting to think her efforts would be better placed in running back to get her Lion and barreling over them instead—but, that would be overkill and dangerous to her grounded teammates, so she thought better of it.

        She was stepping away from the fight to better assess the situation when she saw it happen. One of the creatures made a furious charge at an already overwhelmed Keith. Before Pidge could warn him, Lance had already handled it, stopping the alien with a few well-aimed shots. Each one was clearly fatal, but apparently the animal had one last hurrah left in it and it re-focused itself on Lance who was positioned dangerously close to a ledge of indeterminate height. It whipped it’s head in his direction and bolted towards him. Despite the fact that it was bleeding out, it was still just as quick as it had ever been.

         Lance had thought it was dead, and had moved on to other targets. He didn’t see it coming, preoccupied with assisting Allura in the same way.

         “Lance!” Pidge called out, hoarse from exertion and panic.

        Only then did he turn, but it was too late. There was no time for anyone involved; no time for Lance to move, no time for Pidge to help him, and no time for the pain-blinded animal barreling straight at him to change its mind. Lance’s eyes widened just before it hit him with a sickening thud, the momentum sending both of them falling down into the trench. His pained shout faded and cut off, and Pidge’s heart sank.

         Crying out, she raced to the edge, sick with ideas of what she might see. She was relieved to see that it wasn’t a deadly fall, but it was still significant enough that Lance could be pretty banged up. Peering down , she saw the creature lying in a heap, blood pooling from the deep blaster shots that had absolutely wrecked its thick hide. _Now_  it was dead— _probably_. But, where was Lance? She couldn’t see him from there.

         “Pidge!” Keith called. “Is he okay?”

         “I-I don’t know!” Pidge returned over her shoulder. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the dead beast, expecting Lance to pop up from behind it at any moment with an impish remark or a half-truthful claim that he was okay; which _he was_. Lance was okay. He _had_  to be.

         “Go check on him!” Hunk pretty much demanded. “We’ve got this, so go!”

         Pidge answered with action, hopping down after Lance while using her jetpack to slow her descent and cushion the landing. As soon as she touched down, she raced over to where the creature lay.

         “Lance?” She slowed to a jog as she rounded the massive head. “Are you—”

         She was cut off with a gasp at the sight of Lance, whose entire lower half was pinned under the hulking, bloodied mess of dead alien. He was laying on his stomach, face turned to where Pidge was standing, and he was awake. Somehow. He caught her eyes with his pain-filled ones and managed to crack a smile which dissolved into more of a grimace.

          “Hey,” he said. “This…doesn’t feel great.”

          His words came between worryingly short breaths which brought Pidge quickly to his side.

         “Can you breathe?” she asked him, trying to gauge just how serious this was. Not that it wasn’t at all serious. It was more figuring out where on a scale from bad to life-threatening Lance’s situation was.

          “Not…easily,” he said. “My chest is all messed up.”

         And laying right on it certainly wasn’t helping. Pidge had seen the impact. It was no surprise that Lance had likely broken, or at least cracked, some ribs. Regardless of the details, he was in pain, but Pidge didn’t know how she was going to help him on her own. The others weren’t available and there was no way she would be able to move the heavy animal. She would have to wait, and she _hated_  that.

         Crouching by him, she watched helplessly as his back kept rising and hitching with his labored breathing. His fingers dug into the dirt as he tried futilely to drag himself to freedom, but it only served to cause him unnecessary pain. Quickly defeated, all tension left him and he started visibly shaking.

         Pidge put her hand lightly on his shoulder, not quite sure where it was safe to touch him. There was no telling what other injuries he had that she couldn’t see.

         “Don’t move,” she said.“Everyone will be here soon. I’m sure that between all of us we can get you out.”

         Lance tilted his head up to look at her and nodded at her attempted optimism, but he seemed to be fighting back tears. Pidge took it as a sign that this was, indeed, _bad_. Scratch that. _Terrible_. Even worse than what she could see. It took a lot for Lance to cry in front of—

        “I can’t…f-feel my legs,” he said.

        _Oh_. Fear for her friend gripped Pidge’s heart, but she tried to remain calm and logical so that she wouldn’t spiral.

       “It’s just because of the weight on them,” she reasoned, not even thinking about Lance having a permanently messed up legs or a paralyzing back injury. _Nope. That wasn’t a thing._

        “Okay,” Lance said.

        He didn’t seem convinced. Probably because Pidge was letting her dread show on her face too much. _Wow, why was she so bad at this stuff?_ She was way better at dealing with things when plans to fix them could be put into place right away. But, that wasn’t an option. Lance needed someone else right now. Hunk could do it properly, or Coran…or Shiro. She shook that last one away from her mind—not the right place to deal with that. Also, Lance _didn’t_ have them. He had her. As much as she wanted to just get it over with and _get him out_ , that wasn’t possible. She needed to step it up and do her best to keep Lance calm, however awkward she was at it.

        Lance gave Pidge a funny look as she took his hand.

        “Look, I know you’re freaked, but it’s gonna be fine,” she said. “We’ll get this big pig off you, and get you back on your feet…no worries, okay?.”

        Oddly enough, this got some semblance of a smile and a pained huff of laughter from Lance as he blearily said, “Yeah… _Hakuna Matata _,__ right?”

       This was totally some weird shock thing. That or he was trying to joke around, but it didn’t take away the fear in his voice and the struggle that every breath was. Pidge tried to humor him anyway, even though she didn’t understand why she should bother.

        “What?”

       “ S’a big pig…this guy’s…basically Pumbaa,” he explained, looking back at the mangled dead thing that had him pinned, and that, yeah, was undeniably a giant mutant warthog. It was ridiculous. Pidge would bring it up again later when Lance was better, but she was finding joy in the idea of space _Lion King_. The Voltron Lions were suddenly ironic.

        Her mild amusement was cut short as Lance started coughing painfully.

        “Lance!” she exclaimed as a few drops of blood speckled the dirt between them.

         A low whine escaped him as his head dropped back down. He suddenly looked so worn down, far away and close to fainting. _Lance needed help. Soon._ Pidge squeezed his hand, but he didn’t even try to look at her again.

        “Lance?” she tried again. “Talk to me.”

        He stared at a fixed point ahead of him as his breaths continued to wheeze in short intakes. Pidge’s adrenaline shot up again. She was losing him. _Where were the others? He needed out!_ Lance blinked slowly, consumed by pain or otherwise unaware to it anymore.

         “Tired,” he mumbled.

         “No, no, no. Hang on, Lance. Don’t sleep,” Pidge begged.

        She risked removing his helmet to tap his face in an attempt to keep him awake. He was awfully cold. Lance tried to obey for maybe a few seconds before giving in to unconsciousness. His eyes were dull as they fluttered shut. Pidge wanted to shake him, but knew that would do more harm than good. Nothing about this was _good_ anyway. It was all going very wrong, very fast.

         A trickle of blood dripped from the corner of Lance’s mouth and Pidge couldn’t take it anymore. She stood sharply, frustrated tears springing into her eyes as she started pushing at the creature. She was blindly, desperately, throwing her small weight at the immovable wall of stinking hair and flesh, cursing and yelling at it to move as if it were still alive.

        She hardly heard the rest of the team finally making their way down into the trench. Hunk was speaking as he reached them first.

        “The rest of those things took off; they must have smelled the dead one—” he paused, taking in Pidge’s tear-streaked face and Lance’s motionless, trapped form. “Oh—Oh, no, Lance!”

         He fell to his knees by Lance’s side, immediately busying himself by taking his friend’s vitals. His expression was equal parts relieved to actually find them, and concern for how off they were.

         Keith and Allura arrived, taking in the scene with grim faces. The still vaguely reluctant leader swore under his breath, sizing up the dead animal while trying to figure out how to proceed.

         The Princess stepped up, her stance confident.

         “No need to think on it for so long,” she said. “This is hardly an obstacle.”

         Before anyone could ask what she meant, they watched as Allura shapeshifted her body to be slightly larger than normal so that she could get a less awkward hold on the beast as she, seemingly effortlessly, lifted it off of Lance just enough for the others to be able to drag him out.

         The other Paladins stood dumbfounded for a moment before Allura looked at them incredulously and said, “Well, _get him_.”

         Jolted into action, Keith and Hunk each took a gentle hold of Lance’s arms and slid him out and away. Allura was then able to put the animal down and assist the others in tending to their fallen teammate.

         “Help me roll him over,” Keith said.

         They did, but instantly regretted it because the action caused Lance to practically explode back into consciousness with a gut-wrenching scream as his chest was jostled. Everyone sprung back in shock, except for Hunk who did his best to try and placate Lance as he started writhing in pain. The Yellow Paladin could only let out a string of apologies, his voice rough and tearful (but, he wasn’t allowing himself to cry just yet).

         As Lance began to calm down, Hunk was able to as well, and he set about offering, albeit shaky, reassurances to the injured Paladin. He kept a grounding grip on Lance’s arms the entire time. Eventually Lance stilled and looked up into his friend’s face, seeming to slowly get his bearings and minutely relax as he realized that he was free.

         Pidge was relieved to watch him take a moment and experimentally shift his legs. He winced at the movement, but it was accompanied with a small smile. _Better pain than nothing _.__ Pidge patted his shoulder and gave him a knowing nod. The fear they had shared just between them would stay that way for now.

Lance’s next breath wheezed and exited on another harsh cough, bringing fresh blood to his lips. It wasn’t much, but it still wasn’t a good sign at all. Hunk paled at the sight of it. He maneuvered Lance’s head into the crook of his arm so that he could keep it raised—the poor guy didn’t need to be choking his own blood on top of everything else.  

          “Just try to keep breathing, buddy,” Hunk encouraged, settling his other hand lightly over Lance’s chest, and still managing to keep his tears mostly at bay.

          “We need to get him help,” Keith said, already standing. “Now.”

          No one wasted any time. Lance was holding on, but they all knew he could take a turn for the worse at any moment. He clearly had some kind of chest trauma going on that was bringing him steadily towards shock. Pidge wasn’t going to relax an inch until she saw him in a healing pod.

           Allura knelt down next to Lance, and Hunk helped her gather him into her arms.

           “You got him?” he asked her once Lance was settled.

            "Of course.”

            She stood slowly as to not hurt him, but as soon as she was on her feet, she swiftly made her way to the trench wall. Everyone else followed.

            Lance, in a voice that was barely there, quipped, “S’a whole new meaning…to the phrase…‘Princess carry’”

            Allura shushed him, but Pidge could see her smiling at the fact that he was still in the right mind to be himself. It was a small comfort. He was going to be okay.

            Keith slowed his strides to fall back next to the Princess. He fixed Lance with a weary, complicated look. Pidge could make out a very short, mostly one-sided exchange between him and the newly appointed Red Lion pilot. She couldn’t fathom what that could be about, so she didn’t bother herself with trying to catch the whole thing. Instead, Pidge decided to focus on how they were going to get Lance back up over the ledge as painlessly as possible.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could probably re-name this project "Medical Inaccuracies for the Sake of Drama: The Series" and we'd lose nothing.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and for your continued patience with my update schedule, which I can tell you is basically determined by an octopus throwing darts at a spinning game show wheel. Also, this is so close to having 300 kudos and that's just INSANE to me, so thanks for that as well.
> 
> A few people over on fanfiction.net also requested a continuation of the previous chapter with Shiro. I'm thinking that once I'm further into this, I might set up a second project that will just be called "Hurt!Paladins extras" and consist of missing scenes from these ones. So, if at any point you would like to see anything related to these oneshots, be it a continuation of one that was left open-ended, or maybe even a different character's viewpoint, then leave a comment to let me know and I'll consider it.
> 
> I'll see you all for the next chapter, if we survive season 7 that is! I'm so excited~
> 
> -tazlwyrm  
> [I'm not gonna bother linking my tumblr anymore because I'm hardly on that hellsite these days, but I do periodically check it for messages, so still contact me there if you feel the need to. Same username.]


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